


Nowhere Left to Run

by startwithsparks



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Clothed Sex, F/M, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Ravishment, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:26:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chase, a capture, a willing victim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nowhere Left to Run

Fallen leaves and twigs crunched under her bare feet as she ran, her heart throbbing so loud in her chest that it drowned out every other sound around her. Branches caught in her hair, snared her clothes, and tore at the bare flesh of her neck and arms, but she kept pushing forward through the increasingly thick brake. She hadn't run like this since she was a child, since the day she'd decided to sneak out and watch one of Lord Eddard's beheadings and was so frightened that she fled back to Winterfell as fast as her young legs could carry her. But it wasn't fear that drove her forward this time, fear was something she abandoned with her name and the last vestiges of that little girl; it was the excitement of the chase that moved her now.

She could sense him closing in on her, and from time to time she caught a flash of black darting through the brush. His wolf was faster than he was, a beast designed by the gods to hunt and capture, but not so much more than her brother was. There were times when she felt fingers grasping at the back of her tunic, but she couldn't tell if they were his hands or the hands of tree limbs groping for her. It didn't matter, she ran faster, ignoring the slap of branches and the scrape of stone and bark against her skin. He would catch her, there was no doubt, but not until she made him run her down first.

It wasn't as if they would run out of forest first, not the way they had in the godswood. Arya could make it from one end to the other in a breath, it seemed, and while that was enough at first, she'd started to crave the anticipation as much as the outcome and wanted to draw it out as long as she could. They had to leave the familiar walls of Winterfell for that, to take to the hills and thick forests that they'd often rode and hunted in as children. It was a different kind of hunt now, one predator stalking down another, but the trees would sing of fallen prey soon enough, with countless eyes watching them and sharing in their hunger. Arya could feel them too: the constant flux and flutter of ravens through the rustle of leaves, keen for the promise of carnage.

But she couldn't run forever, nor could she anticipate every step of the forest. As light on her feet as she'd learned to be, as deft and swift as her footfalls, there were more hidden dangers than just wolves and ravens. Her foot landed in a patch of dense brush that obscured a gnarled root and caught in its twisted arch. Her hands instinctively came forward to catch her fall, scraping against the cool, wet earth. It seemed as if the entire forest went silent for a moment, waiting to see if she would scramble back to her feet before he got to her. And she did. She was up again in a heartbeat, trying to get her balance as she lurched back into the brush. But it was too late. She didn't get more than a couple of feet before she felt him smack into her from behind, his weight forcing her forward and onto the ground again.

Arya squirmed beneath her brother, shoving at the ground and kicking at his legs. He tried to hold her down by the back of her neck, but she was still stronger than him, and she managed to knock him off and roll out from under him. Her pants were torn and dirty, her hands streaked in blood and muck, but she pushed herself back and reached for a low-hanging limb to hoist herself up. He watched her, braced on the pads of his fingers and toes until she was on her feet again. Then he lunged forward again, pinning her back to the tree. She fought him, but only half-heartedly, and if nothing else it drove him even deeper into his frenzy.

One of his hands dove under her tunic, sliding it up around her hips, while the other pinned her to the tree by her shoulder. His fingers made quick work of the laces on her pants, pulling them loose and sliding a hand inside. Her breath caught, his fingers seeking out the warmth between her legs as his mouth closed in on her throat. Rickon's teeth scored against her skin, chasing the quiver of her heartbeat up the side of her neck. Branches caught in her hair and scraped her skin as she leaned back, tipping her head to give him more room to move. He almost never bore down hard enough to draw blood, not like this, but he raised a fair share of angry bruises on her milk-white skin. As he laved his tongue across her throat, the tip of his tongue and teeth grazing the slopes of her collarbones and the hollows they made, he slowly slipped his fingers inside her to draw out another heavy moan.

She'd never had to teach him how to touch her, he'd always been so eager to please her that he was quick to learn for himself what made her knees buckle and her hands tremble. It was the power she gave to him, to make her vulnerable, to consume her in a way that no one else could. And he didn't disappoint. He trailed down from her neck, the hand that held her shoulder sliding away to pull at the front of her tunic. The laces, already hanging loose and ragged, gave way easily and the fabric slipped from her shoulder. His lips brushed over the faint curve of her breast, nuzzling at the side, his tongue seeking out the shallow crease underneath. There wasn't an inch of skin neglected by his teeth and tongue or the soft scratch of his cheek before his lips finally closed around her nipple.

Arya reached up, tangling her fingers in his soft, russet-colored curls, pulling him closer as he sucked. He groaned around her, tongue rolling slowly across sensitive flesh. Between his warm mouth and the bark digging into her neck and shoulders, every nerve was sharp and on-end. All the urgency in her body seemed to pool in the palm of his hand, still pressing firmly against her. She arched towards him, trying to coax him on, but instead of giving her what she wanted, he pulled away from her completely, meeting her dark gaze for a moment. Rickon licked his lips, a sly smile turning up the corners of his mouth and quirking one thin eyebrow, and Arya's breath shuddered and she tightened her grip in his hair, shoving him down to the forest floor.

She groaned softly as he shoved her tunic up around her waist, trying to hold it up with her free hand so he could get rid of her pants. Once he'd freed one of her feet from the fabric, he hauled her scraped and bloodied leg over his shoulder. In a moment his mouth was where his fingers had been, lapping at her with a groan of his own. His narrow shoulders and strong arms seemed to fit perfectly there between her thighs, his mouth sliding into place as if it belonged there. This far out in the forest, it no longer mattered if anyone heard them, and Arya responded freely, cursing and panting as he teased her. He was relentless as she was, and she loved him for it, holding his head in place as she rolled her hips forward against his mouth.

It wasn't long before they found a rhythm between them and Arya felt her body hurtle ever closer to the edge. The tighter she held onto him, her heel digging into his back, the more intent his movements. Her feet arched, pressing her body harder towards him and into the tree behind her, he responded by holding her down even firmer, his hands pinning her thighs in place as she strained and drew her body in tighter.

When the tension finally broke her muscles burned and she ached from holding herself up, but Rickon wasn't finished with her yet. She barely had time to gulp down a breath before he was on his feet again, shoving his pants down around his thighs and hitching her legs up around his hips. Still trembling from her own crash, she tightened her legs around him and clutched his arms. Then his mouth was on hers and he was buried inside her, one hand braced on the tree by her head and the other beneath her hips. He was no more tender with her now than he ever had been, if anything the urge to devour her surged forward stronger than before. He bloodied her lips with his teeth and sucked harshly at the broken skin while his hips slammed against hers. There would be bruises there as well, blooming black and blue, trophies from their battle of mouths and limbs. She treasured every mark he left on her, no matter how she'd won them.

There was no doubt when he was about to shudder over the edge himself. He tore away from her mouth and buried his face against the curve of her neck, where he'd abused not long ago, panting hard against her skin. Her arms wound around his shoulders, holding him to her chest as his movements became increasingly erratic. All she could do was ride it out with him, trapped between the unforgiving tree and the ferocity of her little brother. It was almost a relief when he finally trembled to an abrupt stop inside her, his nails breaking through the skin of her hip.

As he growled against her skin, his muscles still quivering, she stroked his hair and neck, hands softly sliding over his shoulders and back. Sticky with sweat, he eventually peeled himself away from her and eased her legs down, hitching up his pants and tightening the laces with one hand. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, smeared with blood and other things, and took a step back. Still panting, Arya watched him, the brush rustling as the dark shadow of his wolf slipped nearer. Overhead she heard a faint chorus of caws and dropped her head back against the tree, hair still tangled in its branches.


End file.
